


Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.

by contradictmyself



Series: shameless kink meme fills [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Non-Immortal (The Old Guard), Found Family, Gaslighting, Joe is pretty and Nicky can't stop staring, M/M, Nickys friends are better than your friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contradictmyself/pseuds/contradictmyself
Summary: Nicky's not sure how he ended up here: you never expect to the be the one abused. Somehow he's become the frog in the pot of boiling water. But there's a bar-b-que, friends who aren't so easily chased away, and an artist named Joe who might be the answer to the entire situation. How many chances do you get at a happy ending? If you're Nicky--at least two.Fill for the kink meme prompt: modern au where Nicky's boyfriend Keane is abusive and backhands him in front of the team.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Keane/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Series: shameless kink meme fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908442
Comments: 38
Kudos: 678





	Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the kinkmeme prompt: Modern AU where Joe has feelings for Nicky but he doesn't act on them because Nicky is already dating Keane
> 
> No one in the group likes Keane though. Keane is obnoxious, rude, demanding and Nicky basically bends over backwards to meet Keane's needs despite the warning signs.
> 
> The final straw is when Andy is having a little barbecue, she invited the whole group over and she invited Keane out of politeness. At one point Keane and Nicky are talking and things are getting heated until Keane suddenly backhands Nicky across the face hard enough to send him to the floor and everyone saw it happen
> 
> Some comfort please. 
> 
> \- - - - - - - - - - - 
> 
> It got a little bit away from me. oops. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Domestic abuse: emotional/physical. Gaslighting. 
> 
> If you're bored, come check me out at contradictmyself @ tumblr or on plurk @ justplainchy

“Nicky!” Andy’s bright voice meets him at the door, arms reaching out to let him wrap her in a tight hug, easily dodging the bowl of potato salad in his hand. He buries his nose in her hair, breathing in the scent of her with a murmured “hi, Boss.” God, it’s been too long since he’s seen her—since he’s seen any of them, really.

“Keane,” Andy’s greeting for Nicky’s boyfriend is less friendly, and Nicky winces despite himself, but pulls back so that the two of them can shake hands. “Glad you let Nicky out to play.”

“Happy Birthday,” Keane replies with his own tight smile and Nicky breathes a sigh of relief.

 _It’s just bait_ , he thinks, reaching out to grab Keane’s hand and squeeze it in reassurance, _please don’t rise to it._

Andy’s eyebrow arches, but she gruffs out a “Thanks” and then steps back from the door. “Come’n back, everyone else is outside.”

_The bar is dark and loud and everything Nicky wants on a Friday night after a week of work and too many months of spending nights alone. He sees the guy immediately, of course he does, because he cuts the kind of figure that’s hard to ignore: tall, dark and handsome barely begin to describe it. He stands against the bar as music thrums loud enough to make your chest hurt with it and bodies move around him sweat slick and vibrant. He stays still, like a rock unaffected by a stream. Nicky can’t stop looking at him._

_He’s drinking something that looks old and expensive, completely the opposite of the cheap beer Nicky’s been nursing for half an hour, and he finds he desperately wants to know what it is—it would be easy enough to order the guy another, but before he does, the bartender is pushing a second beer his way, nodding toward Mr. Mysterious and Nicky takes it with a smile, tipping the bottle his direction in thanks._

_A drink leads to talking. Talking leads to a hand settled possessively on his hip. That hand leads to hurried kisses against the wall in a club like they’re teenagers._

_The first time is everything Nicky’s wanted for a long time: possessive, aching, hard and somehow tender under all of it. He feels wanted. He feels, for the first time, the weight of all of Keane’s attention focused on him and his pleasure. It’s so hot it almost burns._

_There was no way he could have known._

The sun is still bright and warm as they emerge from the house onto Andy’s patio, which someone has done up in a ridiculous number of streamers and honest-to-god balloons. Andy makes a face and Nicky laughs, making a mental note to get a picture before the end of the night. Seriously though—are those _unicorns_? His money is on Booker.

“Nicky!” There’s a chorus of greeting as the rest of the guests catch sight of him and he should feel relieved to see his friends (it’s been months, he realizes with a start) but instead the ball of tension that’s settled in his chest tightens. This needs to go well. Keane didn’t want to come, but gave in after Nicky’s insistence—they have to like him.

“Booker. Quynh. Nile,” he greets, motioning to each of them in turn. “This is Keane.”

From behind him, the taller man gives a nod of greeting and then pulls away to ask Andy:

“Somewhere around here I can grab a beer?”

From his seat at the table, Booker shares a look with Andy that he can’t quite read and then calls out:

“Yeah, here man—” and digs out one to toss his way. Nicky turns to hide the flinch as Keane catches it, hand incredibly close to Nicky’s face.

_Keane’s job is stressful. That’s what Nicky tells himself. He’s working security, so long hours and having to keep people in line means that when he gets home and he’s a little short because there’s not dinner quite yet, or Nicky hasn’t tackled the mounting pile of laundry just makes sense._

_Besides, it’s not as if Keane doesn’t apologize later, once he’s had a moment to catch his breath. Once he’s eaten. More often than not, once he’s settled he’ll tug Nicky to him and press a soft kiss on his temple and whisper a soft ‘sorry I raised my voice, you know how it gets’. Nicky does know how it gets. It’s a stressful job, and Keane’s been promoted to head of security for the youngest CEO in pharmaceuticals. Really, he’s lucky to be with a man who is so successful._

_And the kisses are still soft, and the expectations aren’t much. Make dinner. Keep the apartment clean. He can do that for his boyfriend—the hours at his own job aren’t nearly as long._

_It just makes sense._

The party has settled into an uneasy sort of truce: Keane and Nicky are tucked at the end of the table, Booker and Quynh next to them. Nile is bothering Andy about the burgers she’s grilling and the older woman doesn’t entirely look like she minds, even for all she swats at Nile with her tongs. Quynh watches both of them with a smile Nicky would usually want to investigate. There’s tension, of course there is, because Nicky’s friends don’t exactly _like_ his boyfriend, but he’s hopeful if they get to know him—

He really is a good guy when you get to know him.

“Nicky, how’s work?” Booker asks, leaning over the table to grab some of the chips that someone’s actually put in a bowl (it’s a party, they’ve made an effort), making eye contact over the top of his sunglasses.

“Are you still working on that project? The one for the Church?” Quynh adds on, stealing the chip as it’s halfway to Book’s mouth and giving him a wide grin when he squawks in protest.

“It’s fine Booker, grab another. Your hands work,” she admonishes before turning her full attention to Nicky.

“Ah—” he starts, hesitating because he’s not sure he knows how to explain.

“Nicky quit his job,” Keane intercepts, and Nicky swallows, hard, at the look that Quynh and Booker share and waves a hand to forestall their questions.

“It’s nothing, I just—it wasn’t working out. I had different priorities.”

_“You think this is funny?” Keane was angry, of course he was. When was he anything else these days? Work stress, probably, or Nicky not quite keeping up with his end of the bargain._

_Nicky shakes his head, crossing the room to try and retrieve his phone from his boyfriends’ hands._

_“No, mi amore, no. Of course not. It’s just – the man is my boss. The one who texted, he has no designs on me.”_

_Keane’s grip on the phone doesn’t budge, but a quick scroll through the message again brings a twist of his lips._

_“Your boss wants to fuck you, Nick.” It’s matter-of-fact, doesn’t leave room for argument._

_Nicky fights back a sigh and raises his hands, placating. He runs them along Keane’s arms, over the muscles he finds there, trying to work out the tension._

_“He doesn’t—it’s just that this restoration project for the Church is important, and it’s nearing completion. He’s making sure we’re ready.”_

_"You shouldn’t work there, Nick. It’s too many hours anyway.”_

_Nicky startles, blinking. That isn’t—he loves his job._

_“I’ve been working on this project for a year, Keane. I know it’s a lot, but soon it will be over and you won’t have to worry about it anymore, alright? Now, come to bed, amore. You’re not thinking straight.”_

_“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Keane assures him, and Nicky lets it slide because there’s a large chance his boyfriend won’t remember, especially not when he’s four beers in and halfway through his fifth. Besides, the idea that Nicky’s boss wants to sleep with him is ridiculous—the man has been married to his wife for years. In the daylight it will look less confusing, and Keane will see that._

“I thought you loved art restoration!” Quynh protests, and Nicky resists the urge to kick her under the table.

Look, he doesn’t want to talk about it, and it’s definitely easier if they don’t. He doesn’t want to have this argument again, and Keane was right—it was taking a lot of his time, and Keane made enough that they could get by without Nicky working. It just made sense.

His eyes flick to his boyfriend, but Keane doesn’t look back, just takes a long drag off the bottle of beer he’s nursing and sets it down on the table.

Nicky opens his mouth to respond, but is saved the awkward explanation by the sound of the sliding door opening. There’s a bright chorus of “Joe!” from the various occupants (Nicky tries to keep from feeling the twinge of jealously that curls around his spine—they’ve obviously all met this man he knows nothing about. But then again, he hasn’t seen his friends in months, it’s not their fault), and Andy crosses from the grill to be scooped into a hug that lifts her off the ground and spins her around.

When the man puts her down, Nicky has to catch his breath.

Joe, whoever he is, is—a very attractive man. Dark olive skin, bright eyes and curls that look like maybe they should spend every moment of the day _nicely tousled_. He’s got a beard and lips that—

Well, it’s better if Nicky doesn’t finish that thought.

He can feel Keane’s eyes on him before he feels the hand on his leg and he swallows, turning to offer a weak smile. He knows that look: dark and unforgiving.

From her spot next to him, Andy calls: “Nicky, come meet Joe!”

_The wine bottle hits the wall with a sound like a gunshot. It shatters, pieces flying near Nicky’s face even as he shies to the side, avoiding it. Sharp pain flashes across his ear and touching it, his fingers came away red. He’s_ bleeding _. Across the kitchen, Keane’s voice is low and measured:_

 _“Why the_ fuck _are you out having coffee with other men?”_

_Nicky blinks, still stunned by the sharp pain in his ear and shakes his head:_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tesoro!”_

_“I_ saw _you.” Keane argues back, eyes flashing bright with anger. “Last week, at Starbucks on Main. Laughing with a blonde. I gave you this long to tell me, but you never mentioned it. So what is it, Nick? How long have you been cheating on me?”_

_Nicky’s brain scrambles to think of who he was with, to try and place the coffee date in context with Keane’s rage._

_“Last week—” he thinks and then nearly laughs with relief: “Booker? I had coffee with Booker! You know—my friend from University. The Frenchman.” See? Nothing to worry about. He’s_ straight _. Mostly. Whatever he is, he’s certainly not interested in Nicky._

_“Yeah? That’s the lie you’re going to go with? Jesus, Nick.”_

_“It’s not a lie!” He protests, “It was! Here—look!” His hands are shaking as he pulls out his phone, swiping through pictures until he finds the one he’s looking for: he and Booker, unmistakably branded Starbucks cups between them, Booker flipping off the camera. They’d texted it to Andy, because she hadn’t joined them—_

_Keane glances over it and shakes his head._

_“You should have told me.” He argues, and Nicky nods despite himself, relieved it seems like the worst of his anger is subsiding. Keane’s hand comes up to Nicky’s ear and he touches the cut with surprisingly gentle fingers. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. Come’n, I’ll help you patch up. Be more careful next time.”_

“Pleasure to meet you, Joe,” he says with a hesitant smile, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. Oh, he does have nice hands though, strong and soft.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Joe replies with a bright grin that might as well put the sun out of its misery. “Andy won’t shut up about you. Months now she’s been saying ‘you’ve got to meet Nicky!’, ‘Nicky would love your art!’, ‘Nicky is better at everything than you—” The last is added with a wink and Nicky laughs—though the sound is cut off as Keane’s hand squeezes harder against his leg. Right. He’s here with his boyfriend, he doesn’t need to throw himself at every man who walks through the door.

“Keane.” The two men shake hands and Nicky lets out a breath. Maybe they’ll make it through this okay. So far, so good. Booker and Quynh seem to like him a little at least. They haven’t argued once.

“Pleasure.”

“Alright, stop flirting all of you and come grab food!” Nile’s voice cuts across the back yard.

Nicky winces, turns to Keane and promises quickly, a low whisper in his ear: _“I wasn’t flirting”_ and then stands to get them both plates.

Joe falls into step with him as they walk toward the grill and the vaguely terrifying woman who’s wrestled control of the tongs away from Andy.

“Andy says you’re into art restoration?”

It can’t hurt to have a conversation, right? Besides, Keane is still at the table.

“I was, yes. I worked with a group that was restoring the cathedral downtown. A lot of the artwork wasn’t repaired after a small fire a few years ago discolored them with soot.” He can’t help the twist of longing when he talks about the job—they had prepared for it for nearly a year, each restorer becoming familiar with a painting, spending countless hours—well, better not to dwell. Easier, at least.

“Worked?” Joe’s voice is soft, prompting. Nicky finds he cannot resist it.

“The hours—became longer. I was not as focused as I should have been, on the rest of my life.” He pointedly does not look at the man sitting behind him, but he can feel Keane’s eyes on his back. “It was a good decision.” If he says it enough, perhaps he’ll convince himself.

“I draw,” Joe says. “Well, and paint. Andy and I met at an opening. She’s been trying to introduce me to you since.”

_“You’re lucky I love you, Nick—” Nicky nods—he is, he knows it, Keane’s told him enough times. “No one else would put up with this.”_

_“I know,” His voice is quieter than he means, picking up pieces of glass with careful fingers, trying to avoid cutting himself further. He shouldn’t have dropped dinner—the plate slipped, but if he hadn’t been trying to carry too much—_

_“I work all day to try and get you what you need. All I ask is that you’ve got dinner on the goddamn table when I get home? How hard is that?”_

_“Not hard, mi amore, I know.”_

_“You’re damn right it’s not hard. I’m going out for a beer and something to eat. Clean this up before I get back. Don’t wait up for me.”_

“I’d love to look at your work.” Andy’s not wrong, Nicky does like seeing new art, and he can’t help the gentle lance of warmth that fills him at Joe’s grin.

“Perfect, we’ll make a date of it.”

“I’d like that.”

They’re at the grill now, and there’s little they can do except grab paper plates and let Nile serve them: one for Joe, two for Nicky. He’s careful as he balances Keane’s plate, making sure the larger of the two burgers is going to his boyfriend, careful to make sure the mayonnaise on his doesn’t touch the other man’s, that he gets the ratio of ketchup and mustard just right. 

Joe watches him and when Nicky notices and arches an eyebrow in question he says simply:

“He’s a lucky man, to have someone who cares so deeply.”

It snags on something in Nicky. Something sharp and raw he doesn’t quite know how to deal with, how to rationalize out. Keane’s not the lucky one, Nicky is. Right?

_“It’s her birthday, mi amore. She’s my best friend and I haven’t seen her in months,” his tone is plaintive, almost pleading. He hates himself for it, but he doesn’t want to face Andy’s look when he explains he can’t attend her birthday party—it’s been planned for half a year. He’s had a present picked out for almost twice as long._

_"_ _Your friends hate me.” Keane argues, and at least he’s not angry. That’s promising._

_“They don’t! They just don’t know you yet. I want to show you off to them, let them meet you properly,” He presses against Keane’s side on the couch, and only winces a little when the man sits up, pushing him away._

_“You want me to go sit around with you for hours while your college friends judge me. That it? Make you feel special about yourself?” Ah, there’s the anger. Nicky reaches a hand out and smooths along Keane’s shoulders, down his back. Keane shakes him off._

_"They’re the only family I have. I want them to meet the love of my life.”_

_Keane laughs, and Nicky winces._

_“Fucking sap.” Keane’s hand finds its way into Nicky’s shirt and fists there, dragging him forward into a kiss that’s more teeth and dominance than it is anything else and Nicky goes willingly, letting the man lay whatever claim he needs. See? He’s yours. It’s fine—you can let him see his friends, he’ll always be yours. He wants you just as much as you want him. “Fine. We’ll go play happy couple with Andy and her queers.”_

Walking back to the table, Nicky notices that Keane’s beer has been replaced with a glass of something the color of honey. Shit. Booker probably passed it over—he’s rarely anywhere without a flask, but it makes it very hard for Nicky to stick to his plan to carefully ration Keane’s intake.

He’s always angrier when he’s drunk.

“Dinner,” he announces as he slips back into the chair next to the man and passes over the plate.

“The fuck is this?” Keane grumbles and Nicky looks down to realize he’s switched their plates when putting them down. He winces again, and reaches out, apologetic.

“That’s mine, sorry my love, please, I’ll switch—”

“Idiot,” the word is low, sharp and Nicky ducks his head, switching the plates before Keane can expound on the admonition.

“I’m sorry, here, yours is this one.”

Across the table, Joe arches an eyebrow, but resists the comment he was going to make by taking a bite of his burger.

Booker and Quynh follow suit.

_“Keane, you’re hurting me.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“Keane, please.”_

_“I said, shut the fuck up, Nick.”_

_“I’m sorry. I already said I was sorry. Please—”_

_“If you don’t shut your goddamn mouth, I’ll shut it for you.”_

_"Of course. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”_

_The day after, Keane bought him flowers and a hallmark card._

_Nicky wore the wrist brace for three weeks._

“Look, I’m glad all of you came,” Andy says, standing at the head of the table, raising her glass in a toast. “But it’s just a damn birthday, I have one every year. If I see unicorns on my cake, I’m going to stab you all. Cheers.”

They all raise their glasses, cheering their friend and each other, smiles wide. Booker stands, with a “Speaking of cakes—” and Nicky rises quickly to help him. Too quickly, it seems, because his hip hits Keane’s glass as he does.

Nicky isn’t sure which is louder—the sound of the glass shattering on Andy’s patio or the sound of Keane’s hand as it connects with his jaw.

The party falls silent, save for the ringing in Nicky’s ears.

He thinks, maybe, he should say something.

He’s silent.

It’s Andy who speaks first, still standing at the head of the table. Her voice is a tone Nicky’s never heard before: cold and clipped and _furious_.

“Get the **fuck** out of my house.”

His stomach sinks, god, he’s upset her, it’s fine, he will—but then he realizes Nile and Quynh have stepped forward, effectively separating him from Keane, putting themselves between the man and Nicky.

From his position on the other side of the table, Booker looks up without standing, the plastic butter knife in his hand suddenly looking far more dangerous than it has any right to as he spins it idly between his fingers.

“She won’t ask again,” he adds with something that looks like a shrug.

Keane looks at all of them, face twisted in rage. He’s not used to anyone standing up to him—it’s been months since Nicky did—but he, at least, can tell when he’s outnumbered and after one more look at the gathered group and Nicky still on the ground, he snorts.

“He’s not fucking worth it anyway. _Bitch_.”

As far as parting shots, Nicky’s heard better. But it’s Keane’s final word and he turns on his heel and leaves the party out the side gate. Nicky hears the car start and has a brief moment of ‘but that’s my car’ before his attention is taken up completely by the man kneeling in front of him.

“Nicky?” Joe’s voice is achingly soft, like he’s talking to a frightened deer more than a person, as if Nicky might startle away given half a chance.

Nicky blinks, and then blinks again—he can’t quite figure out why everything is blurry, until the first warm tear slips across his cheek. Ah, he is crying. This is embarrassing.

“You’re alright,” Joe murmurs, “I’m going to reach out and touch you.”

Nicky almost argues back that he is not an infant and does not need to be coddled, but as soon as Joe’s hand touches his elbow he startles so badly he may have to revisit the sentiment.

“Easy there. I’d like to get you inside. The bastard has split your lip and one of his rings cut your cheek, but I know where Andromache keeps her first aid supplies. If you’ll allow?”

Nicky nods and lets Joe tug him to his feet. He looks back to Andy and starts with:

“Andy, I’m so—”

His friend cuts him off kindly, but firmly. “Nicky, don’t you dare finish that sentence. One person needed to apologize tonight, and it isn’t you.”

He drops his head, warmed and not sure he can let them see the fresh well of tears.

“We didn’t know how bad it was,” Nile says, next to Andy, as Quynh nods her agreement. “Or we would have done something sooner.”

Still sitting, Booker adds: “I mean, I’m still going to do things, they’ll just take a bit to plan so I don’t get arrested.”

Nicky is not entirely sure what he’s done to deserve the people in his life.

“Come now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He should protest. He should not trust this man who he’s just met—after all, look at what happened the last time he followed a man he didn’t know into a home, but there’s just—well. There’s something about Joe that Nicky can’t explain, but inspires confidence all the same. He follows him into the bathroom and doesn’t even protest when he pulls out the antiseptic and apologizes that it’ll sting.

Joe’s hands, it turns out, are nothing but gentle.

_“A stitch! That’s what he needed!” Joe is laughing next to him, hands thrown up in mock indignation as he gestures the story to Nile. “He needed a stitch but all he’d let me do is give him a butterfly band-aid and promise that it didn’t look too strange on his skin! Vain peacock,” His smile is wide as he turns, pressing a gentle kiss against Nicky’s temple, arm wrapped protectively around his waist._

_“Well with a face like that,” Nile starts, and Andy tosses in “A stitch could have only improved it!”_

_They both dissolve into laughter that is more inspired by the now-empty bottles of champagne than the actual humor in the joke, but only gets worse when Nicky throws a wadded-up napkin their direction._

_“Hey!” Quynh protests from the sliding door where she and Booker are balancing mugs of hot chocolate and popcorn to distribute to the group: “Careful with that!”_

_“Ah yes,” Nicky retorts, “Because it is a napkin that will fell the great Andromache.”_

_“You never know!” Booker jumps in, settling into the chair tugged closest to the fire—he hates the damn cold, but loves them all enough to sit out here and freeze his ass off—and tugging a blanket back over his legs, “There was that time with the banana…”_

_“Book!” Andy’s voice is sharp and she takes the same napkin and balls it up, tossing it back toward the Frenchman, “You promised you’d never bring that up again!”_

_The napkin misses Booker and instead nearly hits Nicky. He flinches, into Joe, who tucks him closer and kisses his hair again, one hand soothing down his arm. A silent promise: I’ve got you, nothing will harm you again, not on my watch._

_“I don’t remember that promise,” Booker argues, the flinch unnoticed by the rest of them, or at least—kindly ignored. He’s getting better. Every day. Under Joe’s gentle care._

_“Hey! We were making fun of Nicky and Joe,” Nile protests, always one to stay focused on the task at hand._

_“I was telling a story,” Joe corrects, because he will not stand for teasing his Nicoló, not for long. “About how the love of my life and I met.”_

_“Boo,” Quynh argues, “we can’t all be that romantic. I vote a different story. Booker! Tell us the banana story immediately!”_

_And so he does._

_Next to him, tucked together in a chair that should fit just one, Nicky looks up at Joe and leans into his chest, kissing him, soft and steady._

_It turns out, nothing else really matters._

/Fin.


End file.
